


Baby, I Love Your Way

by somepeoplearewild



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Accidental Baby Acquisition, Derek is Derek, Domesticity, Drabble, Future pack mom Stiles, Gen, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-23
Updated: 2019-07-23
Packaged: 2020-07-11 20:25:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,056
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19933990
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/somepeoplearewild/pseuds/somepeoplearewild
Summary: A baby shows up on Derek’s front porch and he calls the only person adjunct to his pack that’s not a complete idiot.





	Baby, I Love Your Way

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this while I was REALLY high so it might not flow right. I just needed something to cleanse my page after the last thing I posted.
> 
> Song from Title: Baby, I Love Your Way by Peter Frampton

Stiles was not expecting to be woken up at seven am to Derek’s frantic voice telling him to come out to the pack house. What he was expecting even less was to find Derek on the porch pacing in front of a cardboard box that’s... crying?

“Don’t tell me there’s a baby in there.”

Derek shoots him a deadpan look. “No, it’s a puppy. Yes, Stiles, it’s a fucking baby. That’s why I called you.”

Stiles peers into the box, his heart absolutely stopping at the sight of a head full of curly black hair and two watery brown eyes. His chubby little cheeks are splotchy and red, mouth emitting screeches at a decibel that seems unlikely for something so small. He’s lying on a blanket covered in little blue dinosaurs, but other than that the box is empty.

“Did you see who left him?”

“No. I just came home from my run this morning and found him. There was a note but all it said was, ‘Please protect him Alpha Hale.’” Derek shifts back a ways as Stiles reaches in the box and lifts the baby out.

“It hasn’t stopped doing that.”

“Well, when was the last time you fed _him_?”

“I haven’t fed it. A, what was I supposed to fucking feed it? And B, how do you know that’s what it wants?”

“There are certain nuances to baby cries. Each one means a different thing. This lil guy is clearly hungry. Can’t you hear it?” Stiles waggles the wailing baby in front of Derek’s unamused face. “He’s saying, ‘Feed me, Seymour!’”

“Stop.”

“Breast feed me, Derek!”

“I’m going to kill you. Just feed the fucking thing,” Derek grits out before stomping away in his typical bitchbaby style.

“ _Thing?!_ ” Stiles yells at his retreating form, clutching the baby to his chest protectively, which actually does very little to soothe the tiny beast. “ _He_ is a living, breathing baby!”

••••

Stiles is feeling just a tad bit irate as Derek practically herds him through the grocery store. He’s not mad that Derek is being a total kill joy and won’t let him stop on the candle aisle. He’s pissed about all the ugly looks being thrown their way by the other patrons of the store. They could be glaring at him and Derek because they totally look like a gay couple and not because of the corporeal temper tantrum they’re carrying around, but the chances of blatant homophobia are slim in a progressive town like Beacon Hills.

This baby can’t be older than four months so the little guy definitely doesn’t have a sense of an acceptable inside voice; not to mention crying is one of his very limited ways that he can communicate without words. Therefore you have to be a really shitty person to try to death glare a person out of a building because their baby is crying. Stiles is doing his best, okay? All the bounces and back pats in the world won’t make this baby calm down.

“Why are there so many?” Derek asks, looking at the wall of baby formula tubs with poorly concealed panic.

“Different babies have different needs, dude. You need like 7 lbs of raw meat a day while I can survive on a couple plates of curly fries. Babies are the same.”

“Don’t call me dude.”

“Is that seriously what you got from that whole thing?”

“Just pick one and let’s get out of here. I don’t need people seeing me with the sheriff’s son and a baby.”

••••

“There’s no way that’s what you’re supposed to do,” Derek argues as Stiles wipes his wrist off and finally, _finally_ silences Seymour with the nipple of a tasty bottle of lukewarm imitation breast milk.

“I swear to god on my life: that’s what you’re supposed to do!” Stiles replies, wondering how on Earth this man had so many siblings but didn’t pick up anything on child rearing. “You can’t just put a bottle of hot milk in a baby’s mouth! It’ll burn his wittle tongue!”

“First of all, don’t say wittle. Second, it's a werewolf. It'll heal.”

“Okay, yeah. But that doesn’t mean we have to hurt him in the first place, you heartless monster.” Stiles tries not to fumble over the M word so that it doesn’t seem weird. He knows supernatural creatures can be very sensitive about that word, but luckily Derek just rolls his eyes and says:

“Change his diaper while you’re at it.”

••••

“You were such a stinky boy,” Stiles coos, tickling the sides of the giggling baby. His tiny eyes flash alpha red in glee, and Stiles can’t help but feel the poignancy of the situation. This baby is the very last of his pack, all the others probably slaughtered or in hiding. And on top of all that, the poor guy ends up with Derek Hale of all people as his guardian. There’s no way Derek can care for something that lives and breathes and is totally dependent on him for survival. Derek could barely care for Erica and Boyd at first and they’re potty-trained.

Stiles pulls a jingling ball toy out of the shopping bag and shakes it in Seymour’s wide-eyed face before handing it over. “We’re in a pickle, aren’t we Seymour?”

“You _named_ it?”

Stiles startles, not having known Derek was in the room with him. “I named _him_ , yes.”

“We’re not keeping it.”

“Duh,” Stiles replies, trying to ignore the way his heart clenches sadly when he thinks of giving Seymour away. It’s only been a few hours, but Stiles is attached to him. How could he not fall in love with those big brown eyes and shiny black curls? When he’s not screaming his little head off, Seymour is a perfect little angel, blowing spit bubbles and trying to roll over onto his tummy.

“Stiles.”

“Shut up, dude. I know we can’t keep him.”

That is, unless Stiles comes up with a plan to get all the other betas attached to the baby. Which he would _never_ do because it’s manipulative and could end in disaster if Derek Hardass Hale still says they can’t keep him at the end of it all. 

Stiles pockets his phone from where he’s just sent out a group text calling everyone to the pack house.

He’s going to hell for this.


End file.
